


how sweet my breath, how sharp my knife

by tigerlo



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, being completely dramatic, kind of?, this is just a bunch of internal processing and Villanelle in her head, with a bit of angst and interaction from afar because we know these ladies excel at that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlo/pseuds/tigerlo
Summary: Anna made her want to feel like she was enough. Eve makes her want to be…impressive.(Villanelle contemplates a comparison. Set after 2x05)





	how sweet my breath, how sharp my knife

**Author's Note:**

> Woo boy, this is my first foray into KE fic and may well be utter tripe so please bear with if it is, or you know, don't be too harsh. It also might be totally redundant after 2x06 but we'll see. 
> 
> There's mention of Oksana/Anna and a bit of Eve/Niko but it's just for dramatic effect and it's glossed over. Fair warning though, if that's a deal breaker for you, best give this a miss. 
> 
> Enjoy though, fingers crossed it makes some kind of sense...

-

 

Eve makes her feel angry.

 

Anna never made her feel angry. Anna made her feel jealous, possessive even, but never angry.

 

She loved Anna, she quote; _obsessed_ over Anna, she pined and begged and killed for Anna, but Anna never made her feel enough to tip her over into anger. There were stirrings of something resembling it, like some little disturbance in the bottom of a deep, dark well, something boiling far too far below the surface to ever see anything close to the light of day with Anna, but not with Eve.

 

Anna made her impulsive, made her act with reckless abandon but Eve makes her want to be measured, controlled, careful in the mess she makes and leaves behind for Eve to find.

 

Anna made her want to feel like she was enough. Eve makes her want to be…impressive.

 

They’re so very different to Villanelle, even if Konstantin and his little therapist pet think they’re the same. The same obsession, the same craving only reborn into a different body.

 

Eve made her feel like a God the first time she set eyes herself on the spiderweb of research that Konstantin managed to get a photograph of; a celebrity almost, no, an _idol_ . Anna never made her feel like that. Like she was a prodigy, yes, like she was a genius, but Anna always left her wanting. Wanting to give her more, wanting to _be_ more but still never being enough despite gesture after gesture and kiss after kiss, never being enough to step in and take the place of the man who did such a terrible job of loving her.

 

She remembers killing Anna’s husband because she could, because once, naked in bed, Anna said that life would be easier without him. It had been easy too, like she’d killed a thousand people before him and not at all like he had been her first.

 

She wonders about past lives sometimes; if they’re real, who she might have been if they are. Someone that was comfortable watching the life fade from another person, that much is obvious, but her own sense of entitlement and importance feels oddly royal sometimes. Not from someone born into it though, someone who fought fist and teeth for the power they had, who was proud of their position; who refused to give an inch of it up once they had it.

 

Maybe there’s some illegitimate Romanov in her past somewhere, or the lineage of their lunatic doctor perhaps. She’d ask Konstantin to look into it if she cared enough about it but she doesn’t really. The past is her past and her parents are long dead, rotting in some impoverished part of Russia somewhere. There’s nothing to gain from that road anymore. That’s Oksana’s history. Not Villanelle’s.

 

She hadn’t even been cross when Anna had called the police, when she’d been stripped and processed and shoved into a cold, grey cell. She’d heard things about this place, this prison, whispers of its inhumanity. Whispers of things she might learn while she’s in here.

 

There’d been a promising hint of anger when Anna didn’t come and visit once, despite all the letters she wrote begging her to come so Villanelle could apologise to her in person, before Villanelle had finally turned her mind to the fact that it was Anna’s loss if she was too stupid to accept the gift Villanelle had given her. It was her loss if she wanted to live the rest of her life without the things Villanelle could do for her, could give to her. She was better than some cold, ungrateful housewife.

 

Someone out there would appreciate the things she could do for them. Someone would, she knew it.

 

And someone did.

 

Someone that makes her feel…

 

… anxious. Eve makes her feel anxious. Like this thing she wants, that she almost has, is a second away from slipping through her fingers. She can feel Konstantin and Carolyn on the periphery, hovering like they think they’re the ones pulling the strings, plucking at the bow like they’re playing a concerto when they’re only making a mess of the silence. She’s not worried about them getting in the way; she and Eve will find a path to each other irrespective of the obstacles or challenges they try and put in the way, it’s Eve she’s worried about now more than anything else.

 

It’s exceedingly clear that Eve wants this, that she wants to test and play with and draw out the black in her soul, that she wants Villanelle, but the stubbornness with which she’s clinging to her marriage is a problem and it’s starting to fray on her nerves.

 

She hates speaking Russian but she could try that, something to remind Eve of who she really is. Oksana is dead and buried as far as she’s concerned but she knows that Eve feels clever when she calls her by her other name. Like it’s a secret few have found. She’s not wrong on that account, but it’s not the cleverest thing Eve has ever done, not by a long shot. If it makes her feel important though....

 

They never used to like that she wouldn’t speak Russian, or that she killed Oksana in that prison and left as Villanelle. Anna hated her new name when she visited after her escape but she used to like listening to her speak in different languages. She used to love the way Villanelle would whisper _I love you_ in as many different tongues as she could remember when she came. She used to beg for it, if she was in the right mood, on her hands and knees while Villanelle sat on that god-awful chair like a Queen and watched her crawl across the floor.

 

She wonders whether Eve would beg for her, or if she’ll have to break her first.

 

Anna was moody, Villanelle remembers as she walks through suffocating suburbia to Eve’s house late one night after their little tête-à-tête in the woods. She kicks a transformer in with the heel of her trainer outside one house where she can see a couple watching a film through the window, sitting close together until the whole house goes dark. Anna was moody and she had conditions and rules and limits when it came to interacting anywhere outside of that ugly little apartment.

 

Eve though… Eve doesn’t seem to have a single line she won’t cross to get what she wants. Eve is the opposite of Anna, the antithesis almost, because Anna would only admire her in the shadows, but Eve is different, Eve is bolder, Eve will do it on MI6 record in the brazen light of day without a second's hesitation.

 

Eve is patient. Not in a quiet way though; in a way that perseveres, a way that’s full of fire, dangerously full of drive and almost painfully reactive. Anna wasn’t reactive, she was measured, controlled even in her extremity and the height of her carnality, and she doesn’t know Eve like that, not yet, but she doesn’t think Eve is going to be the same.

 

Going to be.

 

Not simply _is_ , like it’s a hypothesis she’ll never get to test, but _going_ to be, like it’s a fact.

 

Like it’s a certainty, actually. Like them coming together in some tectonic clash is inevitable, because frankly, it is, and Eve isn’t as intelligent as Villanelle thinks she is if she didn’t recognise that a long time ago.

 

Anna was… Anna wasn’t worthy in the end. She couldn’t handle all of Villanelle’s darkness, the pitch black of her soul, but Eve is different. Eve worshipped her enough to pour over scraps of information that pertained to her for months, Eve _found_ her, Eve likes the darkness in her maybe as much as Villanelle loves it herself.

 

She wonders what Eve will taste like when they finally kiss. She wonders what she’ll feel like. She wonders whether she’ll make the same sweet sound when she comes as Villanelle imagines in her dreams. She wonders whether she’ll be wild, whether her teeth will be sharp, whether she’ll scratch and bite and scream just the Villanelle prays she will, whether Eve will allow her to strip them both down back to some primal state piece by piece by piece until they’re nothing better than animals.

 

It had been a thought for a moment, to let Eve’s insipid husband to be drawn to the cliche of an affair with the other woman at his school but Villanelle doesn’t want to be the second choice, she doesn’t want to be the thing Eve turns fully towards because her husband is too stupid to understand what’s in front of him.

 

She wants to be first. She wants Eve to choose her, to come to her.

 

She wants to _win_.

 

Eve makes her feel angry because her husband is an idiot, he’s nothing more than warm meat and there Villanelle was, right there in her own bed, open and waiting and ready for her, and instead of taking what they both know she wanted she went and did something beyond stupid instead, she almost ruined everything just to prove a point.

 

Villanelle isn’t angry about the stabbing, she’s amused by the thought of it; surprised, a little thrilled actually because there’s a darkness inherent in the action that she honestly wasn’t expecting from Eve, even if she did pale and shy away from it the second that consequence caught up with desire.

 

No, she’s not angry that Eve almost killed her, she’s angry that Eve went back to him. She’s angry that she didn’t come to Amsterdam, that she hasn’t even mentioned the postcard she sent, that she didn’t say _thank you_ and mean it.

 

Eve is more selfish than she realised at first, although she should have seen it earlier; putting her whole team at risk, Bill’s life on the line, compromising her own marriage, just because she wanted Villanelle, and all of it with barely a beat of hesitation. That’s an admirable level of selfishness, really, something she’s almost proud of, and that alone Villanelle doesn’t mind; she’s selfish too, but she won’t stand that selfishness extending to her.

 

She’s different. She’s not Niko or Bill or Carolyn or Konstantin. She’s not someone Eve can manipulate like she does everyone else. She’s special, and if Eve doesn’t realise she can’t treat Villanelle like everyone else yet, she _will_.

 

It was the one thing Anna wasn’t; selfish. She was a lot of things, but selfish was never one of them. She took from Villanelle but she let Villanelle take more, even if it wasn’t ever enough, she knew how dangerous Villanelle was even before she became who she is now. She understood that, she respected that, and she’s not sure Eve does.

 

She understands Eve’s arrogance in part. She thinks she’s immune from this, from Villanelle’s wrath. She thinks she’s safe, that this mutual obsession makes her so, keeps her above and away from harm. She thinks she’s in control, that hiring Villanelle gives her the upper hand in this situation, that she’s driving whatever vehicle of chaos they’re both in, but it doesn’t, no one else ever has it because it’s the one thing Villanelle will never, ever give away.

 

They’re called handlers for a reason, the people that work with her and her kind. Not partners. Not aids. _Handlers_. Like zookeepers. Konstantin is good at his job, she’ll give him that even if she’ll never tell him because he doesn’t ever underestimate her. He understands her, he knows how dangerous she is, and he knows the painful reality of how far she’s willing to go to get what she wants.

 

He knows she can’t be tamed, she can only be handled, and if Eve is going to fail anywhere it will be in her own arrogant misgiving that she thinks she can control Villanelle. It doesn’t work like that. The world spins on _her_ finger, the control of hers and only ever hers, and Eve is going to learn the hard reality of that one day, sooner rather than later if she’s not careful.

 

Anna was entirely predictable and Eve is utterly the opposite. She is dangerous in her own right, Villanelle isn’t stupid enough to think she isn’t now even if she underestimated her before. She rarely makes the same mistakes twice, and Eve won’t get the opportunity to do what she did in Paris again. Villanelle won’t kill her if she tries though, she thinks she’ll teach her a lesson instead, she’ll show her where the power and control in this relationship truly resides and exactly where they’ll stay.

 

Handcuffing her naked to her own bed and leaving her for her husband to find might be fun. She’d hate Villanelle for that but she’d probably try and retaliate, and as fun as the cat and mouse game is, it’s much less so when she’s having to watch her back every other second for a knife in the back to leave a scar that might mirror the one in the muscle and sinew of her stomach.

 

 _No_ , Villanelle thinks. She likes Eve better curious, adoring, enamoured, enthralled, scared. Not seeking revenge.

 

Still, handcuffing her to the bed, yes, but not leaving her for the lumbering beanpole to find. Maybe… maybe making use of their time alone, showing her how good it is to submit, perhaps. Showing her all the things Villanelle can make her feel if she does. Showing her just how much better she is with her fingers than Niko will ever be. Maybe she’ll make her come until she can’t keep her eyes open, until she’s begging for more, begging Villanelle to stay, begging her to take everything _please_ , _please Oksana, everything_.

 

 _My name is Villanelle_ , she’ll say, ceasing the movement of her fingers until Eve recognises her for who she really is. Until she submits. _My name is Villanelle, Eve. Say it or I’ll stop._

 

She’s not surprised Niko didn’t know about the stabbing, she had assumed as much, as confident in that as she is in the knowledge that he won’t call the police about her little day-visit to Oxford. He might tell Eve they’ve met, but Villanelle doesn’t think he’ll give her the satisfaction of being scared enough to call someone else to come and fix his problem for him. He’ll probably retaliate in his own way if he makes the intelligent assumption that she’ll be watching them; he’ll kiss Eve like he knows she’s watching, he might even take her suggestion to be a little rougher if he’s feeling particularly emasculated.

 

Villanelle pulls a lollipop out of her pocket as she leans up against the hedge across the road from Eve’s little brick house, tearing the wrapper off with her teeth and tossing the crumpled plastic down by her feet.

 

She rolls the hard sweet ball over her tongue as she watches Eve fumble gracelessly in her pocket for her keys, smiling at the utter lack of coordination. She’s lucky she didn’t make a messier job of the stab wound, really, Villanelle thinks to herself as she watches her jam the key into the lock and push through the door with her shoulder.

 

There’s no one else at home, for now. Niko is the one she actually followed home, but the loitering in the supermarket aisles bored her too much to keep on his tail so she swiped a few things on the way out, and the cashier's phone off the counter when he wasn’t looking, and made her way home for Eve instead.

 

She bites down on what’s left of the boiled sweet when he finally appears at the darkened end of the street, the ball exploding between her back teeth with a _crack_ , his silhouette infuriatingly boring enough to prompt the unconscious reaction. A stray shard catches the inside of her cheek before it dissolves and the coppery taste of blood mixes with the cola of the lolly.

 

Men are such stupid creatures, she’s found on the whole, and they always take an affair with a woman worse than if their wife was sleeping with another man. She knows Niko will take it worse still because he’s still naively clinging to the idea that his wife is good, that she couldn't possibly be capable of stabbing another person, assassin or not, and that she couldn’t possibly be obsessed, _attracted_ , to someone as dark as she is.

 

 _That’s the funny thing about Eve though,_ Villanelle thinks as she picks something out of her teeth with the end of the plastic lollipop stick, watching Eve shrug off her coat and sit down at her table from her position across the street. _She’s so much darker than he could ever understand_.

 

It’s obvious how deeply Eve is thinking about something as she stands and hovers aimlessly in the kitchen, her hands sliding over the back of the chairs at her table, lingering at the one Villanelle had taken across from her, almost caressing the wood.

 

She knows Eve and her little team will have been given the briefing on psychopaths prior to her coming to the house a few days ago, and she knows Eve will think she can do all the things they’ve told her that will help her manipulate this situation. Villanelle isn’t simple, she knows what she is even if she isn’t fond of acknowledging it, even if she hates being told it by other people.

 

They’re easy to read too, those signs; the careful ego-fluffing and bending over backwards to make people like Villanelle feel important but not too important, and she knows part of Eve’s little act in the kitchen the other night was the extension of that as much as her dismissal in the woods was the opposite of it, only she can’t quite put her finger on how much of it was.

 

She knows that Eve is complicated, she doesn’t even understand her own feelings let alone her own darkness yet and a large part of her is trying to get the upper hand over Villanelle and solve this Ghost case but she thinks there’s still a large soft and malleable part of her that is still as attracted to her as Villanelle is of her. She thinks that the touch, her palm on Villanelle’s cheek the other night was her physically reaching out, a manifestation of that, a show of true desire breaking through that sloppy, careful, completely transparent visage.

 

Eve is a lot of things, Villanelle understands, but she’s a creature of her own desire just as much as Villanelle herself is, perhaps more because her self control is so childishly underdeveloped.

 

Konstantin thinks she’s impulsive, so did Anna, but she’s not. She has better control over her emotions than any of them ever will, and a better understanding of the things that threaten to break through them too. Anna had an annoying amount of self-control, a few specific things aside. Eve has almost none. She’s not sure yet which she prefers.

 

Eve paces slowly around the kitchen as Niko makes his way down towards them both. She opens the fridge door a few times as if the contents of it will assemble themselves into something for dinner before she grabs a bottle of white wine from the fridge on the fourth, messily pouring herself a drink from the same cup that Villanelle used a few nights ago.

 

She watches as Eve’s fingers trace around the top of the cup distractedly, her eyes fixed on something through the window, about ten feet to Villanelle’s right.

 

 _Like she knows I’m out here in the dark_ , Villanelle thinks, her breath catching. _Or like she wants me to be._

 

She thinks though, rather than knows, because Eve has been frustratingly unreadable since Paris, and it’s harder to get a good idea of what she’s thinking than Villanelle would like.

 

Like in the clearing, Villanelle thinks, biting down hard on her molars again. She could have killed Eve in that forest, the arrogance of her _thank you_ still ringing in her ears, grinding her back teeth hard enough to make her jaw ache. If it was anyone else she would have.

 

Konstantin’s voice joins the ringing, _she’s making you weak, you know it, you need to kill her_ , and he might have been right, worth listening to, if his own agenda wasn’t so blatantly clear.

 

A continued attachment to Eve is a liability but it’s an advantage to her too. She knows it’s a weakness only having Konstantin as an ally, she knows he has his own means he’s trying to find an end too, he and Carolyn with their warped unknown agenda that she can’t quite put her thumb on yet. Having Eve wrapped around her little finger just extends her reach slightly and gives her a few more options.

 

That and the fact that she hasn’t gotten Eve into bed yet, which is reason enough not to dismiss the attachment.

 

Eve is different to Anna, Villanelle thinks as she watches Niko finally unlock the door a few minutes later, even if they have one common annoyance still present, only she’s not so sure Eve would be as angry at her if she killed this one as Anna was.

 

She pulls the stolen phone out of her pocket, cursing the cheap technology before she can find the message function, watching Eve greet Niko with what even she can tell from all the way over here is nothing better than lukewarm affection.

 

Eve looks down at the glass when she shrugs off a kiss to her cheek, then out the window, and then back to Niko before her expression changes to something silkier. _A mask_ , Villanelle realises with some twang of hope as she turns back into her husband's arms, not solidly meeting his eye.

 

It’s all a show, and a bad one at that if the wince that passes his face is anything to go by, but he doesn’t stop anything. He glances out the window when Eve busies herself with unbuttoning his pants, his gaze hard, like he knows she’s out there too.

 

 _How wonderful_ , she thinks smugly, crossing her arms as Eve pulls him back towards the stairs. _All of this, just for me._

 

She sucks at the cut on the inside of her cheek while she waits, feeling blood fill her mouth with a coppery tang before she spits to the side, leaning back against the fence behind her, a few stray branches of the high hedge digging in between her shoulder blades.

 

A tawse, Villanelle thinks with a smile, turning around and looking for a branch to her liking, eventually snapping one about the length of her arm from fingertips to elbow off the hedge. She peels the leaves off as she watches the bottom of the stairs, the branch neat and clean by the time Eve appears. Her hair is wild and her cheeks pink, her dressing gown open and the hint of a black bra underneath. She looks breathtaking, Villanelle thinks, especially with eyes that seem completely unsatisfied.

 

 _Good,_ Villanelle growls as she flicks the makeshift tawse through the air, the sound of it cutting through with a satisfyingly sharp _swish_. He’s still as useless as ever, even at the height of desperation.

 

She watches as Eve makes her way over to the table, swiping the cup up and drinking the contents down in one gulp, her eyes almost boring through the glass as she looks directly at Villanelle but failing to settle, the night just dark enough to obscure her.

 

 _Seven minutes, huh?_ she texts, smirking as she types Eve’s memorised number into the recipient box before hitting send. She chews her lip as she types the second message, watching as Eve walks over to her bag, fishing her new phone out with a frown. _He lasted longer after the flowers. That’s pathetic. Did you even get close?_

 

Villanelle can see Eve’s face pale and then flush even from this far away and she hums in satisfaction as she watches Eve furiously type out a reply.

 

 _A better reaction than your husband had managed to pull out of you, Eve,_  Villanelle laughs to herself. _Ask yourself what that means, will you?_

 

The phone buzzes in her hand but she takes a long minute to watch Eve before she bothers looking down.

 

 _Where the hell are you?_ is all the reply says as Eve sits down at the kitchen table, now determinedly not staring out the window.

 

 _Close enough to see that you barely look satisfied_ , Villanelle grins as she taps out. _I could do better with one hand tied behind my back. Or both of yours if you were up for it._  

 

There’s no mistaking that Villanelle wants Eve, even with the little poison-toting Ice Queen act the other night. She wants all of her, every part, every single inch she won’t give up or show to her vapid husband. She wants to feel the bones in Eve’s wrists creak under her grip, she wants to feel the tendon in her neck struggle under her palm as Eve begs for breath before she comes. She wants to erase every lover that Eve’s ever had before, she wants to pull their memories out of Eve’s head root and stem until she’s the only thing left.

 

Until Eve can’t, no, _won’t_ , think of anything else.

 

The phone buzzes in her hand again. _That’s none of your goddamn business. Leave us alone._

 

Villanelle makes a sound akin to amusement under her breath as she replies. _You don’t really want that, do you, Eve? Would you really rather I went off and found some pathetic desperate straight girl and fucked her until the morning? Left pretty little stripes over the backs of her thighs for her to treasure the next day? Or would you rather I pined outside your bedroom window like a dog instead?_

 

Three dots appear on the screen before Villanelle’s eyes and then disappear as Eve stares at her phone, unmoving, not even breathing. She doesn’t look up, she doesn’t do anything. Until finally…

 

 _Fuck you_. As good an admission as anything, Villanelle thinks contentedly, almost laughing out loud.

 

_You can if you’d like. Just say the word. I can guarantee I’d be better than him._

 

Eve’s jaw clenches as she reads the response, her shoulders curling as she types back. _No, you wouldn’t._

 

She does laugh then, the sound of it a bark in the night. It sets off some canine symphony in the distance as a dog responds, and then another. _Is that the lie you tell yourself?_ she types slowly.   _Is that how you keep yourself out of my bed?_

 

No reply. Eve still doesn’t move though, she doesn’t throw her phone in her bag and storm out. She’s still listening, Villanelle smirks to herself. She still wants to hear what I have to say.

 

She sends another message _. If you really want me to go, then tell me to go._

 

It’s a risk, especially given Eve’s current unpredictability, but she’s fairly confident that this will push her the right way and not the wrong way because Eve knows Villanelle will call her bluff. If she tells her to go, she will. She’ll pick some pliant desperate pretty thing on the way home and she’ll make sure Eve knows in the morning.

 

Maybe she’ll have her stay until Eve and Carolyn are due to call for their first day as _colleagues,_ have her halfway to orgasm when they let themselves in with the key Konstantin has, ignore the flushed embarrassment of her bedmate as she throws the covers off and hunts for the clothes she had purposefully hidden out of reach naked while Eve seethes in the background.

 

Maybe she’ll kiss the girl goodbye in front of Eve, her hands mockingly soft on the girls face, tracing one of the love bites on her neck before she whispers something filthy into her ear and the girl giggles as she departs. Maybe she’ll promise to call again tonight, promise to have something for those pretty red lines Eve will be able to see on the inside of her thighs as she leaves in something of Villanelle’s when they fail to find her clothes. Something short. Something revealing enough to make Eve demonstrably jealous of her handiwork.

 

Maybe it’ll be enough to prompt Eve into action. Maybe she’ll send Carolyn out of the room in a fury and kiss Villanelle hard enough to bruise. Maybe she’ll let Villanelle fuck her on the teak desk she had delivered today, bent over and gasping for breath. Maybe she’ll want to fuck Villanelle instead.

 

She looks down at her phone. Still no reply.

 

She grins broadly. The right way indeed. _I didn’t think so,_ she types. _See you tomorrow, Eve. Try not to think of me when you sneak out of bed to get yourself off later._

 

The reply comes quickly. _Don’t flatter yourself._

 

 _I’m not,_  she replies, typing slowly, looking up to revel in the echo of fury on Eve’s face. _I’m being realistic. What was I wearing while he was inside you before? That black lace dress? It’s nice, isn’t it? Difficult to get your hands under but worth it when I’m so wet._

 

No reply.

 

Maybe she will go find a warm body. Someone who looks nothing like Eve, someone with pale skin and blonde hair and a British accent. She heard there was another assassin operating here in London, someone who had given her enough of a wide berth for Villanelle to recognise the action as respect. Hope or Change or something stupid like that.

 

She wonders if she likes girls, or whether she’s just in the mood for a good scrap. Her spare hand, the one not holding the phone, curls into a fist. Villanelle isn’t sure what she wants more right now.

 

The phone buzzes again as she tucks the length of the branch under her other arm and shifts from foot to foot. _Where are you?_ Eve asks again.

 

 _On my way into town,_  Villanelle lies. _I know when I’m not really wanted. Made that clear enough in the forest, didn’t you. Don’t even know why I’m here, really._

 

Eve looks out the window, directly at her. Not near her, not around her, _at_ her, and Villanelle’s heart stops. She can’t actually see her, Villanelle is sure of that, she wouldn’t still be inside that house if she could but she stares outwards like she’s positive that Villanelle is there regardless.

 

The phone buzzes. _No, you’re not._

 

 _Yes, I am,_ she types without looking down.  

 

Eve rolls her eyes when Villanelle’s message flashes on her screen, hesitating only for a second before she responds. _No. You’re not._

 

 _You’re beautiful when you’re angry,_ Villanelle taps back, not making any attempt to move. _Does he tell you that? It suits you. Makes your skin look warm. Very…. kissable._

 

She can see the tendon in Eve’s jaw tense as she reads. Her chest expands in an inhale. _Where are you?_

 

 _Goodnight, Eve,_  she replies, not answering the question. Still not moving either.

 

God, she hates technology, she thinks as she drops the phone in her hands, sighing in satisfaction when she feels the screen _crack_ under her heel. Speaking this way is for cowards. And the unromantic, she scoffs internally, but she supposes it will do for now if the alternative is not speaking to Eve at all. She glances up at the figure in the window, her face flushed as she stares now unashamedly out into the night.

 

She watches Eve look at the phone after a minute or so, noting the lack of another message before - in an almost predictable moment of reactivity - she tries to dial the stolen number, holding the screen up to her ear, hanging up and redialling twice.

 

There’s no point in it though, Villanelle knows, watching Eve, to her immense satisfaction, pace and show some semblance of actual emotion beyond anger for the first time she since she set foot through her front door. She’ll get nothing but a dead dial tone because the screen under her heel remains unresponsive. She kicks the phone under a hedge and finally takes a step.

 

Niko chooses the opportune moment to make his way down the stairs at the precise second that Villanelle passes in front of the house and their eyes meet - her and Eve’s - just long enough for Eve to register who it is.

 

Even from a distance, she can see Eve’s pupils blow wide in an easy recognition. She’s not wearing a disguise tonight, she didn’t bother. Her hair is bound back off her face in french braids, black parka and running shorts and trainers expensive but reasonably unremarkable. She’d run here even, hard and quick, desperate for the strain in her lungs and the heat in her chest.

 

A disguise would have been smarter, but she wanted to take the calculated risk tonight. She wanted Eve to see her for her, the real her, the shadow of a person Eve could fantasise about building a life around and not someone completely unattainable. Someone that Eve could imagine cooking Sunday dinner for, coming up behind as she stands at the kitchen bench, sliding her arms around her waist, pushing her hair back off her neck and biting a warm line down to her shoulder before her hand slipped beneath the waist of her trousers.  

 

Someone…normal. Not flashy or arrogant or cold, just _normal_.

 

She gives Eve a smirk and a dainty little wave, disappearing out of her line of sight the second Niko walks closer, lingering just long enough to see the expressionless look on Eve’s face as he tries to pull her into some sort of soft embrace before she can shrug him off.

 

 _Imagine how much you want that to be me, Eve,_ she thinks, wiling it into Eve’s mind as she sets into a run and then a sprint, clawing her hands through the air in an effort to strip herself from the world around her.

 

She’s already thinking about a plan for the morning. How she’ll bat her eyelids instead of serving the cold uncaring attitude of their last meeting and win Eve over with a touch of softness. She’ll show her that she can do both, unlike her weak husband who’s too scared to wrap his hands around her neck properly.

 

 _Remember how unsatisfying his touch is compared to mine, Eve,_ she thinks as her trainers pound against the smooth pavement and her lungs tear themselves apart in an attempt to draw in more air _. Remember how sweet my breath and how sharp my knife is. How little you really love him and how much you want me. Remember, Eve. Remember what I make you feel._

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tigerlo.tumblr.com),  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tigerlo_) etc.


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